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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30055035">Will You Wash My Back This Once?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythologuy/pseuds/Mythologuy'>Mythologuy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Guys please dont sexualize this, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Like seriously i triggered myself, Pain, Panic Attack, RP!Dream is an Asshole, Techno is a good brother, Technobrother, Tommy has PTSD, Wings, character has a panic attack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:31:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30055035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythologuy/pseuds/Mythologuy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Class of 2013 by Mitski. Basically Techno finds Tommy under his house but I made it hurt worse. TW: Graphic Depictions of a Panic Attack, Disassociation, Slight Dereailization, Slight Gore, mentions of throw up.</p><p>CURRENTLY REWRITING</p><p>I have a discord! Come hang out!! </p><p>https://discord.gg/xGUwUhDkwC</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s), Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Comfort Fics, Completed stories I've read</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Will You Wash My Back This Once?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I had to stop writing for like three weeks in the middle of writing this because my head was in a terrible place and a lot of shit had just happened in my life. I finished this up though, so here you go babies! Technobrother makes my brain so happy and I miss their dynamic so bad. Much love to the community, don't push yourself too hard this week and remember to take some time for yourself! This work has some pretty tough stuff in it, so you don't have to read it if it's too much. Otherwise, enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The avian dreamt. He dreamt about an astronaut named Clara, floating about in a sea of purple and black, endless clusters of white light twinkling as she floated. The image warped and swirled, falling to earth and framing a white beach, devoid of life besides a small tent and a few torches. The tent swayed, its bounds creaking and bowing to salt-filled gusts sent off by the sea. </p><p>	The beachfront made the dreamer nauseous. The image once again slipped, this time flashing memories of explosions and whispered words of honey-sweet discouragement. A sick man in a tattered brown trenchcoat, a madman wrapped in green and white, and a young president-become-tyrant grinning at him as sounds and images whirred around his head. Some slowed in front of him, staying in vision for a longer amount of time. Half-eaten birthday cake, cracked disks, angry welts from a man he considered his brother, smoke puffing out of his best friend’s mouth the night of his own festival. So, so much bad that his head began to ache. </p><p>	He woke up retching, throat tight and face soaked in sweat, heaving for air that burnt up before it reached his lungs. He rolled off of his bed and onto his knees, clutching at the twine that had twisted around his neck while he’d slept, groping for his compass. Your Tubbo. He tried hard to keep quiet, not wanting to alert anyone to his position, slumped over with his head against cold cobble and his back now exposed. </p><p>What if Dream found him like this, would he laugh? Would he hurt him? He couldn’t let that man find him here. So he sobbed into one hand, biting at his fingers and covering them in snot and spit. He clutched his compass on the other, locked in that position until his stomach decided to no longer cooperate with his instincts. He pushed himself up, panicking as he gagged and tried to expel the contents of his stomach, though he had nothing to give. </p><p>	“Mo-omm” He sobbed. This was who people called when they needed help. He tried out the term weakly. He knew he wouldn’t be met with any consolation, but he repeated it. His lungs ached and his throat burned with bile. “M-Mom…” The word was foreign, but he continued calling it on instinct. He heaved once again. He was unaware that these sounds could be heard, echoing on the stone walls he was surrounded by. Reaching the ears of the other man currently occupying the house above him.</p><p>	Technoblade was not a light sleeper, senses sharpened for survival due to years of conflict. It comes as no surprise that the sound of muffled groans roused him as soon as they began. Pink eyelids snapped up to reveal angry black eyes, and he snatched his sword up from where it leaned against his bed. He listened for where it came from, becoming slightly confused as he made his way down his ladder towards his basement. How hadn’t he noticed this? There was one stone positioned oddly, angled slightly differently than the others. He grabbed a pickaxe from his inventory and collected the block. </p><p>        He swore he heard someone call for their mother. He was about to be so pissed if some orphan had burrowed under his house like a raccoon. What he found upon descending was not quite that. He remained silent, mostly due to shock at the sight of his youngest brother, curled up and breaking down underneath his house. The boy was pulling at the front of his singed and shredded shirt, tightening the fabric to reveal a gaunt, starved, shell of a body. And two bumps, where Techno remembered there to be wings, still slightly downy and peppered with yellow the last time he’d seen the boy.</p><p>	This was a situation he was not prepared for, but he was quick to hide his sword, not wanting to frighten the boy. What was wrong with this kid? Was he sick? Why was he so small? The voices were upset, half of them shouting for blood while the others begged him to comfort the shrunken boy, all of them in frenzy.</p><p>	“Tommy?” He spoke, trying to snap him out of it. Tommy jolted into a sitting position, scrambling backwards until a chest hit his back. He winced, no doubt at the feeling of the latch planting a bruise on his back. That’s gotta hurt. Techno tried again. “Tommy? Um, it’s me. You know, Techno?” </p><p>	He stopped talking when he realized the boy was no longer there, eyes glazed and unfocused, seeing some other scene that had him hyperventilating and trembling, face messy and wet as he tried to smile. What the hell? The voices became angrier at this reaction. Here was his baby brother, who he’d remembered as bright-eyed and excited, finally getting those flying lessons from Phil. Rosy-faced and irritating, of course, but happy. His pale face and slightly crooked teeth gleaming in the sunshine of their childhood home. What had happened? He’d been eight when Techno and Phil went to explore the world, but when Techno thought about it, he was still just sixteen. </p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m so, so, sorry. Listen, man. Can we just talk-” Tommy’s voice dropped for a second as he scrambled once again, standing up to speak. “Please, man. I’m sorry, c’mon, please, don’t blow my stuff up. You guys are always blowing things up. Everybody always blows my things up. Or steals them. Like- like my friend Dream. He loved to take my things. Hell, he even took my- my fuckin wings.” He let out this strange noise, a laugh that tipped off at the end, dipping into a pained sort of whine. “Took ‘em right on the beach, he did. And then he- then he-” And Tommy began to cry once again, folding in on himself, wrapping his arms up to his shoulders as phantom pains stabbed and ripped at his back. </p><p>Techno’s limbs moved on their own, bringing him closer to the boy and wrapping him in a hug. Tommy froze a bit at this before burying his face into the pale white wool of the piglin’s shirt and allowing his older brother’s arms to wrap him up. His shoulders shook into the embrace, body no longer acquainted to physical affection. </p><p>He then released a sound the bled Techno’s heart dry, something he’d never heard a human make. It was between a howl and a war cry, too strong- too loud- to be called human; demanding the universe give him back what it had taken from the boy and rattling in the chests of those who listened. The boy screamed, he screamed for his dead brother, he screamed for the horrible wars, he screamed for his best friend, screamed at the terrible loneliness, and he screamed for himself. It was a fearful, hopeless, anguished sound. And when it was over, the shaky breaths and small noises the boy let out were silent in comparison. </p><p>Techno simply held him tighter, letting out a few tears of his own, emotions swirling between guilt and anger at his absence, hell, even the part he played in fucking up his little brother’s head. </p><p>Once Tommy’s breathing slowed into long inhales and quick puffs of air, he brought the boy up to the living room. He hoped that the warmth of his actual house would comfort the boy more than the cold hole the kid had dug underneath it. He realized as he placed the boy on one of two couches that he was filthy, grime darkening his hair and nails and caking his skin. Tracks of tears had cut through some of the grit on his face to reveal tan skin, disrupted only by a few small, pale scars. One was above his lip, and he had multiple near his eyes and eyebrows. On one side of his face, his hair was slightly singed and a small patch of skin was glossy as if it had been burned and then healed shortly after. </p><p>Technoblade decided he’d have the kid wash up tomorrow, settling to sleep on the other couch after building a fire in the small hearth and piling blankets onto the thin boy. Though dawn was only a few hours away, the piglin thought today was one he could afford losing a bit of daylight to. </p><p>When he woke again, the sun had risen and was reaching the middle of the sky. Checking his clock, he saw that it was nearly eleven a.m. Tommy’s head still peaked out of the blankets he’d been given, the pile moving up and down slightly as he breathed in the warm air of the cabin. Techno got up and headed for the kitchen, deciding he would make some of his favorite comfort foods for Tommy.</p><p> He started out with some hashbrowns, chopping a few potatoes into thin lines and frying them up with salt and butter. He kept one eye on them as he began to make the dough for a fresh loaf of bread. He kneaded the dough and set it out to rise after pulling the fried potatoes out of the pan, replacing them with eggs and frying those up as well. He made some rice to eat the eggs and hashbrowns over, adding a few minced green onions and salt so that it didn’t leave half of their meal bland. By the time the bread was in the oven, Tommy was up, rubbing his eyes and sniffing the air. </p><p>“Techno?” He croaked out, voice still raw and dry from the night before. Techno grunted in response, grabbing a glass of water and bringing it to the boy on the couch. </p><p>“Hungry?” The man asked, receiving a small nod from the avian after a few seconds. “Great, I made breakfast.”</p><p>The boys ate in silence, save for when Tommy eagerly began shoveling the warm food into his mouth at an inhuman pace and Techno had to remind him to slow down so he didn’t choke or throw up again. It wasn’t awkward, the two had grown accustomed to silence, although Techno found it odd that Tommy wasn’t goofing off or cracking inappropriate jokes at someone’s expense. After the two had finished off their food, the bread was ready to be taken out of the oven and the two enjoyed a few slices of it, warm and slightly sweet with a bit of butter, easing more of the stress from Tommy’s mind as he smiled into the soft slice he was eating.</p><p>“Toms, I have some work to do, but if you want, would you like to use the bath?” Tommy’s eyes flicked up at his old nickname, and he nodded, more than ready to wash himself of the dirt from his exile, crawling under his fingertips and across his skin. “Alright, well, bathroom’s upstairs, ‘s the only room besides the office and my bedroom. Here, I’ll show you.”</p><p>Tommy followed his brother up the ladder, exploring the bathroom when Techno opened its door for him. There was a large mirror that showed a very odd version of himself and a sink with two toothbrushes, one of which was in a cup, a jar of mint paste, and a bar of soap, yellowy and speckled with ground-up coffee. There were a few spruce cupboards under the sink and a toilet to the side of it, right next to a white bathtub. </p><p>“Alright,” Techno clasped his hands together awkwardly, before pointing two fingers at Tommy in finger guns, “I’ll let you be then. Shout if you need some help. Towels are under the sink.” And with that, Tommy was alone.</p><p>Tommy began running water, fixing the temperature until it was just right, and grabbing the bar in the tub that had “soap” etched into its surface. He undressed and sat in the tub, not waiting for it to fill before he began washing. He scrubbed at his arms first, mainly concerned with cleaning his hands, watching dirt circle into the water and down the unclogged drain. He continued, pretending his body was some other creatures as he scrubbed it clean, careful on the spots that had a few small feathers clustered together. His nice illusion was lost when he had to move to his back. His brain tried to cover up the memories, the image of his wings, his pride and joy, burning in a lake of lava under the obsidian bridge he sat paralyzed on. Dream was telling him just how sorry he was, that he had to punish him or he wouldn’t learn, he might try to jump from this very spot again, and Dream couldn’t have that. </p><p>Tommy couldn’t do this. He needed help. So he called. “Techno? Techno, I need that help!” </p><p>	In a few seconds, the piglin was at the door with a worried look in his eyes. “What? What’s wrong? Are you ok?” </p><p>	Tommy had his knees pulled up to his chest and was resting his cheek on one of them, eyes anxious. “Techno? I know this is weird, but I’m not ready yet. Will you wash my back? Just this once, please?” </p><p>	At this, Technoblade was relieved. He hoped this meant Tommy trusted him, at least a bit, and he agreed with a nod. He washed the poor boy’s back, and at the sight of the scars left by a certain green bastard, he was ready to cross all three lives off for the tyrannical asshole that did this. Fuck “favors,” this was his family, and Dream had fucked up. For once, the voices were all in complete agreement.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments and Kudos are appreciated! Feel free to request fics or give feedback, I'm always looking to improve &lt;3 &lt;3<br/>Edit: Ayo?? Thank you for all the kudos!? Y'all I love you</p></blockquote></div></div>
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